Birmingham March Quotes

And I know there are plenty of other "colored" things I could do besides telling my stories or going to Shirley Boon's meetings- the mass meetings in town, the marches in Birmingham, the voting rallies upstate. But truth is, I don't care that much about voting. I don't care about eating at a counter with white people. What I care about is, if in ten years, a white lady will call my girls dirty and accuse them of stealing the silver.

On Thursday morning, May 2, 1963, nine-year-old Audrey Faye Hendricks woke up with freedom on her mind. But, before she could be free, there was something important she had to do. "I want to go to jail," Audrey had told her mother. Since Mr. and Mrs. Hendricks thought that was a good idea, they helped her get ready.

Civil and voting rights for blacks didn’t come from the White House or from masses demonstrating in front of the White House. They came after the Montgomery Bus Boycott of 1955–56, the Freedom Rides in 1961, the Children’s Crusade in Birmingham in 1963, the Mississippi Freedom Summer and Freedom Schools in 1964, and the Selma-to-Montgomery march in 1965. In other words, they came only after hundreds of thousands of black Americans and their white supporters had accepted the challenge and risks of ourselves making or becoming the changes we want to see in the world. Women’s leadership in the public sphere didn’t come from the White House or from CEOs. It came only after millions of women came together in small consciousness-raising groups to share stories of our “second sex” lives. Today’s good news is that Americans in all walks of life have begun to create another America from the ground up in many unforeseen ways. In our bones we sense that this is no ordinary time. It is a time of deep change, not just of social structure and economy but also of ourselves.

My birth certificate says: Female Negro Mother: Mary Anne Irby, 22, Negro Father: Jack Austin Woodson, 25, Negro In Birmingham, Alabama, Martin Luther King Jr. is planning a march on Washington, where John F. Kennedy is president. In Harlem, Malcolm X is standing on a soapbox talking about a revolution. Outside the window of University Hospital, snow is slowly falling. So much already covers this vast Ohio ground. In Montgomery, only seven years have passed since Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat on a city bus. I am born brown-skinned, black-haired and wide-eyed. I am born Negro here and Colored there and somewhere else, the Freedom Singers have linked arms, their protests rising into song: Deep in my heart, I do believe that we shall overcome someday. and somewhere else, James Baldwin is writing about injustice, each novel, each essay, changing the world. I do not yet know who I’ll be what I’ll say how I’ll say it . . . Not even three years have passed since a brown girl named Ruby Bridges walked into an all-white school. Armed guards surrounded her while hundreds of white people spat and called her names. She was six years old. I do not know if I’ll be strong like Ruby. I do not know what the world will look like when I am finally able to walk, speak, write . . . Another Buckeye! the nurse says to my mother. Already, I am being named for this place. Ohio. The Buckeye State. My fingers curl into fists, automatically This is the way, my mother said, of every baby’s hand. I do not know if these hands will become Malcolm’s—raised and fisted or Martin’s—open and asking or James’s—curled around a pen. I do not know if these hands will be Rosa’s or Ruby’s gently gloved and fiercely folded calmly in a lap, on a desk, around a book, ready to change the world . . .

Optimistic, because even though the year of Obama's birth Herbert Lee, a black farmer with nine children, was shot in the head for trying to register black voters, it was also the year the Freedom Rides rocked the South and established a generation of youth leaders. Optimistic, because even though the year of my birth the Klan bombed four little black girls in a Birmingham church and Medgar Evers and President Kennedy were gunned down, it was also the year that established our road map for today - America's dispossessed marching on Washington in unprecedented numbers to demand freedom and articulate our dream.

From the Birmingham jail, King, who had been arrested on Good Friday 1963, wrote an epistle to a group of ministers that illuminated the forces in play. "I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro's great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom," King wrote, "is not the White Citizens' Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate who is more devoted to `order' than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: 'I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods'; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man's freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a 'more convenient season.

This book is fiction and all the characters are my own, but it was inspired by the story of the Dozier School for Boys in Marianna, Florida. I first heard of the place in the summer of 2014 and discovered Ben Montgomery’s exhaustive reporting in the Tampa Bay Times. Check out the newspaper’s archive for a firsthand look. Mr. Montgomery’s articles led me to Dr. Erin Kimmerle and her archaeology students at the University of South Florida. Their forensic studies of the grave sites were invaluable and are collected in their Report on the Investigation into the Deaths and Burials at the Former Arthur G. Dozier School for Boys in Marianna, Florida. It is available at the university’s website. When Elwood reads the school pamphlet in the infirmary, I quote from their report on the school’s day-to-day functions. Officialwhitehouseboys.org is the website of Dozier survivors, and you can go there for the stories of former students in their own words. I quote White House Boy Jack Townsley in chapter four, when Spencer is describing his attitude toward discipline. Roger Dean Kiser’s memoir, The White House Boys: An American Tragedy, and Robin Gaby Fisher’s The Boys of the Dark: A Story of Betrayal and Redemption in the Deep South (written with Michael O’McCarthy and Robert W. Straley) are excellent accounts. Nathaniel Penn’s GQ article “Buried Alive: Stories From Inside Solitary Confinement” contains an interview with an inmate named Danny Johnson in which he says, “The worst thing that’s ever happened to me in solitary confinement happens to me every day. It’s when I wake up.” Mr. Johnson spent twenty-seven years in solitary confinement; I have recast that quote in chapter sixteen. Former prison warden Tom Murton wrote about the Arkansas prison system in his book with Joe Hyams called Accomplices to the Crime: The Arkansas Prison Scandal. It provides a ground’s-eye view of prison corruption and was the basis of the movie Brubaker, which you should see if you haven’t. Julianne Hare’s Historic Frenchtown: Heart and Heritage in Tallahassee is a wonderful history of that African-American community over the years. I quote the Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. a bunch; it was energizing to hear his voice in my head. Elwood cites his “Speech Before the Youth March for Integrated Schools” (1959); the 1962 LP Martin Luther King at Zion Hill, specifically the “Fun Town” section; his “Letter from Birmingham Jail”; and his 1962 speech at Cornell College. The “Negroes are Americans” James Baldwin quote is from “Many Thousands Gone” in Notes of a Native Son. I was trying to see what was on TV on July 3, 1975. The New York Times archive has the TV listings for that night, and I found a good nugget.

Since I saw them pictures a while back on the front page of The New York Times of that police dog in Birmingham biting a young black student in the stomach, I have ceased to like white folks," said Simple. "As bad as Birmingham is," I said, "surely you do not blame white people in New York or Detroit or San Francisco for that Alabama dog." "I do," said Simple, "because white folks is in the majority every-where. They control the government in Washington, and if they let such doings go on in this American country, such as has been going on in Alabama and Mississippi, I blame them all. If white folks was bit by police dogs and prodded with electric rods, you can bet your bottom dollar something would be done about it—and quick—before you could say Jackie Robinson." "You are no doubt right," I said, "but as long as they themselves are not bitten by dogs and prodded by electric rods and denied the right to march or to vote, most white folks in the North will do very little to help Southern Negroes." "And I will do very little toward loving them," said Simple.

we have much to learn from the struggles in Alabama and Mississippi in the early 1960s. In the spring of 1963 the Southern Christian Leadership Conference led by Dr. King launched a “fill the jails” campaign to desegregate downtown department stores and schools in Birmingham. But few local blacks were coming forward. Black adults were afraid of losing their jobs, local black preachers were reluctant to accept the leadership of an “Outsider,” and city police commissioner Bull Connor had everyone intimidated. Facing a major defeat, King was persuaded by his aide, James Bevel, to allow any child old enough to belong to a church to march. So on D-day, May 2, before the eyes of the whole nation, thousands of schoolchildren, many of them first graders, joined the movement and were beaten, fire-hosed, attacked by police dogs, and herded off to jail in paddy wagons and school buses. The result was what has been called the “Children’s Miracle.” Inspired and shamed into action, thousands of adults rushed to join the movement. All over the country rallies were called to express outrage against Bull Connor’s brutality. Locally, the power structure was forced to desegregate lunch counters and dressing rooms in downtown stores, hire blacks to work downtown, and begin desegregating the schools. Nationally, the Kennedy administration, which had been trying not to alienate white Dixiecrat voters, was forced to begin drafting civil rights legislation as the only way to forestall more Birminghams. The next year as part of Mississippi Freedom Summer, activists created Freedom Schools because the existing school system (like ours today) had been organized to produce subjects, not citizens. People in the community, both children and adults, needed to be empowered to exercise their civil and voting rights. A mental revolution was needed. To bring it about, reading, writing, and speaking skills were taught through discussions of black history, the power structure, and building a movement. Everyone took this revolutionary civics course, then chose from more academic subjects such as algebra and chemistry. All over Mississippi, in church basements and parish halls, on shady lawns and in abandoned buildings, volunteer teachers empowered thousands of children and adults through this community curriculum. The Freedom Schools of 1964 demonstrated that when Education involves young people in making community changes that matter to them, when it gives meaning to their lives in the present instead of preparing them only to make a living in the future, young people begin to believe in themselves and to dream of the future.

Obama’s father had studied in a missionary school and was working as a clerk in Nairobi. He was encouraged to come to America for further study by two missionary women, Helen Roberts and Elizabeth Mooney, who were living at the time in Kenya. In Obama’s Selma narrative, this was made possible by the Kennedy family. “What happened in Selma, Alabama, and Birmingham also, stirred the conscience of the nation. It worried folks in the White House,” he said. “The Kennedys decided we’re going to do an airlift. We’re going to go to Africa and start bringing young Africans over to this country and give them scholarships to study so they can learn what a wonderful country America is. This young man named Barack Obama got one of those tickets and came over to this country.” Soon after that Obama got married and “Barack Obama Jr. was born.... So I’m here because somebody marched. I’m here because you all sacrificed for me.” Except that the Kennedys had nothing to do with Obama’s father coming to America. As Obama’s staff eventually acknowledged, Obama Sr. arrived here in 1959. John F. Kennedy was elected president the following year.1 The two American teachers who had encouraged Obama Sr. to make the trip paid his travel costs and the bulk of his expenses. There was an airlift, organized by the Kenyan labor leader Tom Mboya with financial support from a number of American philanthropists. It brought several dozen African students to America to study, but Barack Obama Sr. did not come on that plane. Rather, he came on his own and enrolled at the University of Hawaii at Manoa.2 Moreover, the march in Selma occurred in March 1965, while Obama Jr. was born in August 1961; Selma had nothing to do with the circumstances of Obama’s birth.

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Breaking things and hurting people, thought Harry as he marched across the gravel. A cracking fuckin’ way for a bloke to earn a quid. Better than being chased around by those paparazzi cunts, at any rate. He

In 1920, Mary McLeod Bethune, an American educator, stateswoman, philanthropist, humanitarian, womanist, and civil-rights activist traveled through her home state of Florida to encourage women to vote, facing tremendous obstacles at every step along the route. The night before Election Day in November 1920, white-robed Klansmen marched into Bethune’s girls’ school to intimidate the women who had gathered there to get ready to vote, aiming to prevent them from voting even though they had managed to get their names on the voter rolls. Newspapers in Wilmington, Delaware, reported that the numbers of Black women who wanted to register to vote were “unusually large,” but they were turned away for their alleged failure to “comply with Constitutional tests” without any specification of what these tests were. The Birmingham Black newspaper Voice of the People noted that only half a dozen Black women had been registered to vote because the state had applied the same restrictive rules for voting to colored women that they applied to colored men.

Satyarthi, l’ex ingegnere che libera i bambini schiavi L’indiano da 30 anni in prima linea contro il lavoro minorile: lavorerò con Malala Kailash Satyarthi, 60 anni, è il primo indiano a vincere il premio Nobel per la Pace Maria Grazia Coggiola | 693 parole Fino a ieri mattina, Kailash Satyarthi, era un volto pressoché sconosciuto in India, uno dei tantissimi volontari seguaci del Mahatma Gandhi che in silenzio e con ostinazione si prendono a cuore le cause che in un Paese di un miliardo e 200 milioni di persone sembrano perse in partenza. Poi la notizia del Premio Nobel per la Pace, condiviso con la pachistana Malala, ha improvvisamente catapultato questo schivo ex ingegnere di 60 anni alla ribalta mondiale e con lui anche la sua organizzazione, Bachpan Bachao Andolan (Movimento per salvare i bambini), che da tre decenni si batte contro lo sfruttamento del lavoro minorile. «D’ora in poi le voci di milioni di bambini non potranno più essere ignorate» ha detto ai primi giornalisti che si sono precipitati nel suo ufficio a Kalkaji, un caotico quartiere di New Delhi vicino a uno dei più vecchi templi induisti della metropoli. Nato nello stato del Madhya Pradesh, nel centro dell’India, ha lasciato a 26 anni una promettente carriera dopo una laurea in ingegneria per dedicarsi a tempo pieno ai diritti dell’infanzia: «È sempre stata la mia passione e a questo ho dedicato la mia vita». L’impegno di Satyarthi iniziò con incursioni in fabbriche e laboratori dove intere famiglie erano costrette a lavorare per rimborsare un prestito che avevano contratto. Incapaci di rimborsare la somma ricevuta, spesso venivano vendute e rivendute, bambini compresi. La sua associazione è nata nel 1980, conta oltre 700 organizzazioni non governative affiliate e finora ha «liberato» oltre 80 mila baby schiavi in centinaia di laboratori e fabbriche. Sembrano tanti, ma è in realtà una goccia in India dove sono svariati milioni i bambini sotto i 14 anni impiegati in diverse attività, come la produzione di «bidi», le piccole sigarette fatte a mano, lavori edili, ricami e soprattutto come domestici low-cost per la ricca borghesia delle metropoli. Appesi muri del suo ufficio ci sono i manifesti delle sue crociate. La più famosa è stata quella della «Global March» nel 1998 quando portò a Ginevra mille bambini lavoratori di tutto il mondo. È stato un punto di svolta, oltre che un successo internazionale, perché l’anno successivo le Nazioni Unite hanno approvato una convenzione contro le forme estreme di impiego minorile e da allora l’esercito dei baby schiavi si è costantemente ridotto. Un’altra battaglia è stata quella ottenere dalle multinazionali l’impegno a garantire che i loro prodotti, come i tappeti, non siano fabbricati con manodopera minorile dei Paesi poveri. Durante i Mondiali di calcio del 2006 in Germania, Satyarthi organizzò una campagna per denunciare l’uso dei bimbi di 6 anni nella cucitura di palloni e nel 2011 pubblicò uno studio in cui si rivelava che in India scompaiono 11 bambini ogni ora, vittime del traffico di esseri umani. Vestito con il tradizionale completo di casacca e pantaloni «khadi» (filati e tessuti a mano come faceva il Mahatma) e fradicio di sudore per il condizionatore rotto, Satyarthi ha ricordato anche i legami con l’Italia. «Ho lavorato tanto con Mani Tese - ha detto - e conosco molti italiani». Tra un’intervista e l’altra, in serata, ha poi sentito per telefono Malala da Birmingham. «La conosco - ha spiegato - perché ci eravamo visti l’ultima volta in Olanda durante una cerimonia. La inviterò a lavorare con me». Curiosamente, il prestigioso riconoscimento non fui mai assegnato all’apostolo della non violenza. «Sono nato dopo la morte del Mahatma Gandhi - ha ricordato l’attivista - e se il premio fosse stato assegnato a lui sarei stato più contento. Ma anche ora lo sono perché appartiene a tutti i bambini di questo Paese». Malala, festa tra i banchi d

Four years to the day after Fairchild's 1908 gift of the trees to Washington's schools, on March 27, 1912, Mrs. Taft broke dirt during the private ceremony in West Potomac Park near the banks of the Potomac River. The wife of the Japanese ambassador was invited to plant the second tree. Eliza Scidmore and David Fairchild took shovels not long after. The 3,020 trees were more than could fit around the tidal basin. Gardeners planted extras on the White House grounds, in Rock Creek Park, and near the corner of Seventeenth and B streets close to the new headquarters of the American Red Cross. It took only two springs for the trees to become universally adored, at least enough for the American government to feel the itch to reciprocate. No American tree could rival the delicate glamour of the sakura, but officials decided to offer Japan the next best thing, a shipment of flowering dogwoods, native to the United States, with bright white blooms. Meanwhile, the cherry blossoms in Washington would endure over one hundred years, each tree replaced by clones and cuttings every quarter century to keep them spry. As the trees grew, so did a cottage industry around them: an elite group of gardeners, a team to manage their public relations, and weather-monitoring officials to forecast "peak bloom"---an occasion around which tourists would be encouraged to plan their visits. Eventually, cuttings from the original Washington, D.C, trees would also make their way to other American cities with hospitable climates. Denver, Colorado; Birmingham, Alabama; Saint Paul, Minnesota.

Hear me out. He deliberately had the case transferred to London so it was out of your hands and away from your patch so you couldn’t find out what was going on. He claimed you weren’t up to the task when we both know you were. Then, in March, he took you along to a meeting in Birmingham by train, not only by train but upgraded you to first class. He knew what he was doing. He waited for you to screw up, used it to send you on leave and then insisted you return before the three months was up.’ ‘He wants me to screw up again, doesn’t he?’ ‘That would be my take on this, and why would he want that?’ ‘It might be because I tried to get some answers about the Euston incident.’ ‘Might be?’ ‘It’s most likely because I’d been asking questions, digging into the case.’ ‘Exactly.

When I heard they would be in Birmingham in two days, I had one request. “Bring my school bag,” I pleaded to my father. “If you can’t go to Swat to fetch it, no matter—buy new books for me, because in March it’s my board examination.” Of course I wanted to come first in class. I especially wanted my physics book because physics is difficult for me, and I needed to practice numericals, as my math is not so good and they are hard for me to solve.

The founding conference of the Organization of African Unity (OAU) was held in May 1963 while the world’s press was saturated with reports of the savage police response to the civil rights marches in Birmingham, Alabama. The assembled African leaders sent President John Kennedy an eloquent message: “The Negroes who, even while the [OAU] Conference was in session, have been subjected to the most inhuman treatment, who have been blasted with fire hoses cranked up to such

– Vous avez votre combat, à votre manière. Nous avons le nôtre. (Le ton du révérend était sec.) Ces marches ont contribué à faire avancer les choses. J’étais à Birmingham, j’ai vu comment la situation s’est retournée en défaveur de la police. Nos actions sont pacifiques, agent. Nous n’entendons pas ajouter au chaos déjà existant.

Ms. Hackett handed me a copy of the poem. “Miss Mary, why don't you read it,” she said. “You might have a different inflection in your voice." I read the poem, as clearly as possible, and tried not to cry. It was a powerful piece about the violence against protesters in Birmingham, Alabama, and a mother's decision to send her child to church rather than participate in a march. It was the wrong decision, and the daughter died in the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church bombing. One boy knew the poem by heart and recited the words as I read them aloud. “Wow,” I said, when I finished the poem. “As a mother,” said Ms. Hackett, with her hand on her heart, “that gets me every time. It gives me chills ” She raised her sleeve to reveal goose bumps on her forearm, and I revealed mine. The boys looked for goose bumps on their own arms.

Miss Mary, why don't you read it,” she said. “You might have a different inflection in your voice." I read the poem, as clearly as possible, and tried not to cry. It was a powerful piece about the violence against protesters in Birmingham, Alabama, and a mother's decision to send her child to church rather than participate in a march. It was the wrong decision, and the daughter died in the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church bombing. One boy knew the poem by heart and recited the words as I read them aloud. “Wow,” I said, when I finished the poem. “As a mother,” said Ms. Hackett, with her hand on her heart, “that gets me every time. It gives me chills ” She raised her sleeve to reveal goose bumps on her forearm, and I revealed mine. The boys looked for goose bumps on their own arms.